


Influence

by wolfy_writing



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Demon Sex, Matt Murdock is excellent at sanity, Multi, Please someone else use that tag, Reality blurring, The demon sex gets increasingly blasphemous, Trippy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-06-01 00:26:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15131045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfy_writing/pseuds/wolfy_writing
Summary: After an incident at mass, Matt is having...confusing experiences.  But is it the aftereffects of hallucinogen exposure, or is it demonic influence?Set between Daredevil S2 and the Defenders





	1. Chapter 1

_Good Catholic boys don’t kiss other boys_ , was the first thought in Matt’s head as he felt the tongue slide in his mouth.

The man in front of him pulled his head back. “Good Catholic boys don’t kiss _demons_.”

Matt stepped back. His head felt wrong. The air was thick and hot, and he couldn’t sense the shape of the room, just plumes of heat in every direction.

A low chuckle. “But you’re not a _good_ Catholic boy, are you?” Long-nailed fingers traced the side of Matt’s face. “No, you have some devil in you.”

“Where am I?” Matt put a hand up.

The figure in front of him was shaped like a man, but giving off far too much heat.

And Matt couldn't hear even a _trace_ of a heartbeat.

“Don’t worry, I’ll put you back. Now is not the time, my devil.” Fingernails began trailing through Matt’s hair. Sharp fingernails, filed to points. “Now is an introduction. Your first taste.” The figure leaned in for another kiss.

Matt _could_ have pulled back, _could_ have pushed the mystery man away.. Instead, he let his lips part and his mouth filled with the taste of smoke and an impossibly long tongue.

The strange pulled back. “You like the taste of fire, my devil. Tastes better than virtue, I imagine.”

Matt pressed his hand to his lips.

“You’re almost mine,” said the stranger, and Matt could hear the pleasure in his voice. “One day, you’ll realize how hollow all of this actually is. How meaningless it is to struggle for what you’re told to want, who you’ve been taught to be. To try to be their idea of a hero. And on that day you’ll welcome me into your arms. You’ll embrace me willingly, my devil, and finally live up to your name.”

Strong arms seized Matt and lifted him up.

“Until that day,” said the stranger, “I’ll be waiting. The beautiful thing about heroes is that they always have so far to fall.”

And Matt _was_ falling, falling down into emptiness and cold. Very cold.

“Is he okay?” someone said. “Are you okay?”

Matt lay still, struggling to find words.

“He doesn’t look good. We should call someone. He’ll freeze to death if we leave him.”

Laughter bubbled up from Matt’s mouth, and the world faded to ice.

—

“He looks like he’s waking up. Matt, it’s me, Foggy. Can you hear me?” Foggy clutched Matt’s hand.

Matt drew a deep breath and tried to orient himself. Foggy was there, which was good. He was giving off enough stress hormones that Matt thought he might have a heart attack. Matt had sticky pads taped to his chest, there was an antiseptic smell… _hospital_ , his fuzzy brain finally spat out. “Why am I in the hospital?”

Foggy’s stress level dropped dramatically. “Oh, thank God. How _are_ you?”

Matt thought for a moment. “Confused, mostly. What happened?"

“Some lunatic gassed a church while you were there. He used some sort of hallucinogen, apparently. Everyone went nuts. By the time they were able to organize a rescue, you’d wandered off. A homeless guy found you in the snow that night, two blocks away. He said you’d jumped out of a second-story window and landed in a dumpster. They brought you in unconscious and treated you for hypothermia. On top of that, you’ve got some cuts, a mild concussion and a cracked rib.” Foggy gave Matt’s hand another squeeze. “I know that’s your normal level of injured, but you’re staying in the hospital until they release you, even if I have to handcuff you to the hospital bed. Also, apparently I’m still your emergency contact.”

“I haven’t updated it in a while.” Matt swallowed. “If you…don’t want…”

“It’s fine. I know things are…messy, but we’re still friends and everything.” Foggy loosened his grip on Matt’s hand, but didn’t let go. “Um, do you want anything? Water? More pain meds? I could get the nurse”

“I’m fine,” Matt said.

“You sure? You look kind of off. I mean _obviously_ you look off, you were drugged, fell out a window and got hypothermia.” Foggy ran his fingers through his hair.

“I’m okay. It was just…weird.” Matt licked his lips. His mouth tasted like smoke with just a hint of sulphur. “Actually, water would be good.”

“Sure thing.” Foggy picked up a plastic pitcher from the side of the bed, and poured a cup of water. He carefully placed the paper cup in Matt’s hand.

Matt took a long drink of water.

“So the hallucination? Bad?” Foggy asked. He filled another cup.

Matt downed that, too. “Yeah,” he lied.

—

 _Bless me Father, for I have sinned_.

Matt drew a deep breath and stopped outside the church door. _Had_ he, though? He’d been drugged and had a weird hallucination. That didn’t mean anything.

_So why do I still feel guilty?_

_Because your work is not yet done._

It was just thoughts. He’d had…thoughts before. He told himself it was a blind thing, his brain responding to long hair and soft skin, and not always…making appropriate distinctions.

( _A **blind** thing, righ_ t, muttered a dark corner of his mind. _That’s why it’s **his** hair, and the smell of **his** skin, and the way he makes you laugh, and how his hand feels in yours, and fantasizing about what he’s feel like if he wasn’t too straight to let you touch him._ )

He had some idea of what a therapist would say about the dream. Or what Foggy would say, if Matt had answered his questions.

But Matt had bigger things to worry about. And he needed to talk to someone who would take _those_ concerns seriously.

—

“Matthew.” Father Lantom said. “You have something on your mind.”

“When do I not?”

Father Lantom chuckled. “You _do_ have a talent for worrying.”

“What do you know about demons?”

“Demons?” Father Lantom asked. “Literal, or metaphorical?”

“I’m not sure.”

Father Lantom’s voice was suddenly full of concern. “Matthew, what have you gotten yourself into?”

“I saw something strange. It _might_  only have been a nightmare.”

“You wouldn’t be here if it was _only_ a nightmare.”

Matt went quiet.

“Demonic influences can take two forms. There is the famous demonic possession, or the more subtle influence of filling the head with sinful thoughts and obsessions.”

Matt turned his head. “What…what do you do if…if someone is…if someone experienced…”

“Prayer,” said Father Lantom. “The Anima Christi is a good one. And the Prayer to Saint Michael. I believe he’s your patron saint? And I would advise _someone_ to speak to a psychiatrist. The first step in identifying demonic influence is ruling out other explanations, such as mental illness. You need to understand what you’re fighting before you go into battle.”

Foggy would approve of that advice, Matt thought. He’d brought up the topic once or twice.

“Thank you,” Matt said. “That’s very informative.”

Father Lantom seemed posed to say something, then he stopped. “I’ll light a candle for you, Matthew.”

Matt opened his mouth to insist he was fine, then stopped himself and nodded. “Thank you.”

—

He’d only just stepped off the church grounds when he sensed the strange man. 

“Saint Michael Archangel,” Matt muttered to himself, “defend us in battle…”

Tall. No heartbeat. Radiating heat.

And while Matt hadn’t seen anyone’s facial expression since middle school, he would _somehow_ swear the man was grinning.


	2. Chapter 2

“I told Karen you’re doing better,” Foggy said, his arm looped through Matt’s. “I know things are complicated between you right now, but she still cares about you. We both do.” He hated being the go-between in these situations. But if he didn’t speak up, Matt would ruin a good thing by pushing her away.

Matt had nearly pushed _Foggy_ out of his life before Foggy had started pushing back. Foggy wasn’t going to let that happen with Karen. The three of them were good together, and if that meant Foggy was going to be the third wheel between the other two, he’d live with that.

And Matt _needed_ more people in his life. Right now, if anything happened to Foggy, Matt wouldn’t have anyone. It would be way too easy for him to end up alone, and Foggy suspected that, without other people in his life, Matt's intensity would carry him to some very bad places.

Foggy wasn’t going to let that happen.

Matt nodded. “She wanted some space. I’m giving it to her.”

“She came to see you in the hospital. You weren’t awake yet.” Foggy turned towards Matt. “Call her! You dropped a bombshell on her, she needed some time to deal, but you can talk it out!”

Matt stiffened, gripping tightly on Foggy’s sleeve. “Do you see that guy by the newsstand? The tall one who’s looking right at us?”

Foggy looked over. “I think I do. Serious eighties hair, long coat? He’s got a weird smile, and dude, he just winked at me. Or you, although that would be…hey!”

Matt let go of Foggy’s arm and sprinted for the newsstand, dropping his cane.

Foggy grabbed the cane and followed.

Matt reached the guy, and then stopped. He tilted his head a bit, like he was listening, then he sniffed. “It’s not him,” he said, turning back to Foggy. “It _was_ him, but it isn’t anymore.”

“Hi,” said Foggy, to the tall guy. “Sorry, he thought you were someone who owed him money. My fault, I described you badly.” He handed Matt the cane. “Careful, Matt. You don’t want to trip over anything.”

“Thanks,” said Matt. He took the cane, then turned to the guy. “Sorry.”

“It was a _lot_ of money,” Foggy added.

Matt started sniffing again.

“Okay,” said Foggy, looping his arm around Matt’s. “Let’s go get a cup of coffee, and see if we can remember how to not sniff strangers in public.”

Matt went oddly quiet and let Foggy lead him to the nearest coffee shop.

It was incredibly unlike him. Foggy tried not to freak out.

—

Matt had his usual moment with his coffee, wrapping his hands around the cup and taking a slow, deep sniff. It made a gentle smile spread across his face, a smile that always made Foggy think of warmth and comfort and safety.

Before Foggy knew about the senses, he’d thought Matt was just really into coffee.

Foggy waited a moment to see if Matt would start talking about it on his own, and then mentally kicked himself. Matt _never_ started talking about things on his own.

“So, that guy,” Foggy said. “What was that about?”

“Oh that?” Matt gave his best innocent look. “It’s complicated.”

“More complicated than the weird ninja cult?” Foggy asked, jokingly. His stomach dropped when Matt ducked his head. “ _Please_ tell me it’s not more complicated than the weird ninja cult.”

“I…don’t know,” said Matt. “It might be nothing.”

“That didn’t look like nothing.”

Matt didn’t answer.

Foggy tried again. “It was him, but it isn’t anymore?”

Again, silence.

“Anything to do with how you haven’t been sleeping?” Foggy asked. “If those bags in your eyes get any deeper, you’ll be able to store your wallet in them.”

Matt picked his head up and looked surprised.

“ _That’s_ why you’re not good at this secret stuff.” Foggy leaned in. “Unlike you, the rest of us can actually see your face.”

Matt let out a startled laugh. It was a bit off, a little too loud. A waitress glanced over.

“Anything to do with…devil stuff?” Foggy asked.

Matt looked startled.

Foggy leaned forward. “Did you…” Matt shook his head. “I haven’t started again. I’ve been good.”

“So what’s going on?”

“I told you,” said Matt. “I don’t know.”

“Yeah, but you know _something_. Something’s going on with you. If you talk to me, maybe I can help before I find you half-dead again.”

“That only happened…”

“Twice!” said Foggy. He caught himself and lowered his voice. “And that’s _double_ my worst nightmare. You keep secrets like this, people get hurt. And not just you. I was shot, remember?”

Matt lifted his head, a guilty expression on his face. “I remember.”

Foggy put a hand on Matt’s arm and gave it a squeeze. “So this time, you tell me what’s going on and we deal with it together.”

“As soon as I figure out what’s happening, I’ll talk to you about it.”

Foggy let out a strangled groan of frustration.

“I need to understand the situation…what things mean…what kind of…”. Matt trailed off and sighed. “I know you want me to be more open about things, and I _am_ trying. But I can’t pull you into something when I don’t know what I’m getting into yet. I just _can’t_. You’re too important to me.”

Foggy sighed. “You promise you’ll tell me as soon as you have a better idea of what’s going on?”

“I promise.”

That was probably the best Foggy was going to get.

—

The next morning, the guy with the eighties hair was still standing on the corner. He gave Foggy another wink.

Okay, he was _definitely_ either messing with Foggy or flirting with him. Possibly both.

Foggy ducked his head and moved on.

“Hold on.” There was a hand on Foggy’s shoulder. It was the guy.

“Yes?”

“You’re going to want to see this.”

“See what?” Foggy asked.

The guy pointed upward. “Wait for it.”

Foggy looked up, his hands covering his pockets in case it was a scam. Just as he was ready to give up and step forward, he saw something.

A woman, falling.

Foggy jumped back and yelled. She hit the sidewalk right in front of him, with a sickening crunch.

Foggy knew he should do something, but it felt like his brain had slowed down.

He had to…emergency…call 911.

A woman on the sidewalk was staring at the body. She had a cell phone in her hand.

“Call 911,” Foggy said.

She nodded and began to dial.

Why was everything moving so _slowly_?

Foggy bent down over the woman’s body to check her pulse. He was pretty sure she was dead, but he needed to do _something_ , and the only thing he could think of was from that first aid class he took in college.

He reached out his hand to check her neck, then pulled it back with another yell.

She’d been holding something in her arms when she fell.

It was a baby.

Or what was left of one.

—

“Foggy!” Karen was at the police station. “Foggy, are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Foggy nodded, then shook his head. “No, actually I’m not. A woman jumped to her death in front of me, and she was holding a baby. I’m not even a little okay.” He looked up. “How are you?” “

I’m…fine.” Karen sat down next to Foggy and put an arm around him.

Foggy leaned his head on her shoulder.

They didn’t talk for several minutes.

—

“So, what brings you by the police station?” Foggy asked.

“Anne Perez. The…deceased.” Karen ducked her head. “I’d given her my card asking for an interview, and when they…found it, the police called me in.”

“You were interviewing her?”

“Hoping to.”

“What for?”

“The, um…” Karen started playing with her pen. “The Holy Cross incident.”

“Oh. Um, did you…”

“I haven’t asked Matt for an interview,” Karen said. “I thought it might be awkward.”

“What, calling to interview him about the mass drugging that put him in the hospital? Nah, _every_ girl he dates does that!” Foggy looked at Karen. “So you two…”

“Us two…it’s complicated.” Karen looked down.

Foggy nodded, and was prepared to drop the subject, when Karen continued.

“It’s not that I don’t _want_ to be with him,” Karen said. “I…there’s a lot to figure out. Especially after some of the things I saw when Castle…I don’t want to jump in without thinking this through.”

“I understand. When I learned about, you know…”

“I remember. I was caught between you.” Karen smiled at Foggy. “I’m trying not to put you in that position.”

“No, you’re cool. You’re being amazingly great about this.”

Brett stepped out. “Foggy? We’re ready to interview you now.” He gave Foggy a friendly pat on the shoulder.

A man stepped closer to Karen. He was wearing a sweater and glasses. “Excuse me, I couldn’t help but overhear…”

Brett glared at the man. “What did I say about hanging around the station bothering people?”

“But she’s a journalist, not…:”

“Not in here. Get out of here.”

The man passed Karen a business card. “Call me later.” He caught Brett’s look. “I’m going. I’m going.”

—

“What was that?” Foggy asked, as they walked into the interview room.

“Some ghoul. You get them with certain crimes, especially high-profile ones. Likes to hang around, pester people for details.”

“What is he, like a blogger?”

“I don’t know. Everyone and their grandmother is on the internet these days.” Brett pulled out a chair for Foggy. “Before we get started, do you want coffee or anything?”

“No.” Foggy shook his head. “Let’s just get this over with.”


	3. Chapter 3

_Matt stood on the roof, over the rapidly cooling corpse of Wilson Fisk, his skull smashed to a pulp by Matt’s billy club._

_“You did it,” said a voice behind Matt. “You protected me. I’m safe.”_

_The voice sounded like Foggy, but something about it was off._

_Long fingernails began to trace through Matt’s hair. “It’s so much better like this. Simpler. You’ll never have to lose someone you love again.”_

_Foggy didn’t have long nails like that, Matt thought. Foggy didn’t smell of smoke and sulphur._

_Foggy had a heart beat Matt would know anywhere. Whoever it was behind Matt didn’t have a heartbeat at all._

_There was low laughter into Matt’s ears, and hands slid under the costume._

_Beneath Matt, there was only the sound of crackling flames as New York began to burn._

—

Matt awoke with a shout.

He _wished_ he could believe it was a cry of distress.

He felt for his phone to check the time. “Three thirty-seven AM.”

Matt sat up gingerly, and went to the bathroom to clean up.

“Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil,” Matt muttered to himself.

He didn’t sleep for the rest of the night.

—

“You’re in early,” said Bob, at Fogwell’s Gym.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“You look it.”

What _was_ it about his face? Matt still checked himself regularly for cuts and tender spots that could be bruises, to make sure he didn’t look to visibly alarming without a good cover story. He didn’t even _need_ it these days, but he would do it every morning after shaving, without thinking.

But apparently he couldn’t catch it when he looked tired.

He went in, wrapped his hands, and went to work on the heavy bag.

He was going to have to do something about this. Ignoring…certain thoughts had worked well in the past, but didn’t seem to be holding. If he went much longer without sleep, he’d either get into an accident or lose his mind. T

he trouble was, he didn’t like his options.

He fired off a rapid series of jabs and crosses.

There were two options - what he thought of as the College option and the Catholic option.

He mixed in a few uppercuts, sharp, like the one he’d laid on Fisk.

Matt had gone to Columbia, and then onto an internship at a major law firm. He knew everything a respectable professional in New York was supposed to believe about human sexuality. And he more-or-less believed it.

More or less.

For other people, at least.

He started throwing hard left hooks.

(Battlin’ Jack Murdock’s signature knockout punch. Matt _still_ couldn’t pull one off as hard as his dad’s was, but he was getting close.)

People would be supportive. Encouraging. Very carefully ask him about his “partner”, and they wouldn’t be referring to Foggy. (Matt attempted to bury some awkward thoughts.)

And they’d put another label on him, and call him part of an “oppressed group” like that one girl from Matt’s freshman sociology class, and it would be Poor Brave Little Matt. He got enough of _that_ shit for being blind.

(Half the people in this neighborhood were facing ugly tradeoffs between paying for food or for heat, and Matt had turned down more money on principle than they’d ever see. But _Matt_ was supposed to feel oppressed. Right.)

He switched back to jabs and crosses, throwing his arm into it until his shoulder hurt.

Then there was the Catholic option. He knew that one, too. There were priests that would be happy to talk him through that. Be _supportive_. Offer reassuring smiles about temptation and the difference between disordered inclination and actual sin. Possibly direct him to a group where he could sit around and talk about his feelings with strangers.

And they would put him in the category of someone facing _special_ challenges and needing _special_ support. Right back to Poor Brave Little Matt.

Matt threw in another uppercut, hard and fast.

He hadn’t had the sex life of a good Catholic boy since he’d started college. It was weird that this one point had to be such a big deal.

But those were the choices that people were offering him.

Or he could choose not to tell anyone.

That had worked up until now.

He finished with a final sharp jab that set the back swinging.

—

“Hey.” The sound of the voice slithered through Matt’s ear and sent shivers down his spine.

Matt turned. A tall figure stood at the entrance to a small alley. He beckoned to Matt.

He was heartless, and even with the light fall of snow, he was radiating heat.

Something fluttered in the pit of Matt’s stomach.

He turned and followed, cursing himself for an idiot.

The stranger took Matt’s hand and lead him to a spot next to a dumpster. Matt could only hope it wasn’t visible from any nearby buildings.

The stranger shoved Matt against the wall. “I knew you’d come to me,” he hissed in Matt’s ear. “I could smell it on you. You’re mine.”

Matt bit his lip to stifle a moan.

“There’s a freedom to it, isn’t there?” The stranger slid a hand down and began undoing Matt’s pants. “Damnation. You can stop trying, stop struggling, stop pretending you’re something you’re not.” He gripped Matt’s cock. “Good little Catholic. Good little hero. Good little law-abiding lawyer. Good little Matt. Pretending you’re looking for someone to save, when you’re really looking for someone to hurt.”

Matt failed to suppress the next moan.

The hand stroking Matt’s cock intensified in speed, gripping so hard it was almost too much.

For Matt, almost too much was exactly right.

He came hard in the stranger’s hand.

The stranger laughed. He brought his hand up, his tongue extended, and he licked the hand.

He reached up and ruffled Matt’s hair. “There’s my little devil. I’ll be back. And next time you’ll taste me.”

Matt’s knees shook. He slid down the wall and buried his face in his hands.

—

“Hey, are you okay?” It was a new voice. A stranger. Female. From her voice, maybe in her twenties.

Matt pulled his head up. “I’m fine.”

“Only it’s snowing, and you looked kind of out of it, and I don’t want you to get hypothermia out here.”

Hypothermia, twice in one week? Foggy would lose it.

Matt laughed.

“You sure you’re okay?” The woman sounded concerned.

“I’m fine. I just…” Matt stood up, and discreetly checked his fly.

“Your hair, too,” said the young woman. “Although I think the white stuff is probably snow.”

Matt felt his face flush. He ignored it and ran his hands through his hair. Nothing…sticky. Thank Heaven for small mercies.

But Heaven had nothing to do with this.

“This is your cane, right?” The young woman pressed it into Matt’s hand. “Do you want me to guide you out of here, or are you good?”

“I’m good,” said Matt. He grabbed the cane.

“Your boyfriend’s an asshole, by the way.”

Matt stiffened. “You saw him?”

“Yeah. I’m not blind. No offense.”

“None taken.” Matt put on a smile. “Some of my best friends aren’t blind.”

The girl walked along beside him. “There’s a puddle directly in front of you. You have somewhere to go, right?”

“I do,” said Matt, stepping over the puddle.

“Good. You look like you should be somewhere warm.”

It was true, Matt was starting to shiver. “I’ll catch a cab.” He went to the street corner and put his arm out.

“Okay, good. Um, that thing with that guy…was it…okay? Nothing…bad?”

“Fine,” said Matt, just as the taxi pulled up. “It was fine. Everything is fine.”

He got into the cab.

“Thank you. Goodbye.”

— Matt went back to his place, and took a hot shower. He washed his hair carefully, just in case.

Then he decided to lay down and take a nap. He was so tired it felt like someone had turned gravity up.

“By the power of God, cast into hell Satan and all the evil spirits who prowl through the world seeking the ruin of souls.” Matt prayed, hoping that choosing to say the words would compensate for his conflicted feelings.

He barely had time to get under the covers before he fell asleep.

—

_Blood in his mouth, warm and wet._

_He was devouring raw meat, in thick, bloody chunks._

_The floor was concrete, hard and cold. His hands felt different, with thick sharp claws on the end. He was squatting, grabbing up additional chunks of meat from the body in front of him._

_It was human._

_Large, with a thick layer of fat over dense muscle_

_And not **quite** dead._

_“Good boy” said the familiar voice. “There’s my devil.”_

_Matt recognized the smell of the body as Wilson Fisk._

_As Matt ripped into Fisk’s flesh, he gave a little moan of pain._

_The person beside Matt, hot and heartless, reached down and ruffled Matt’s hair. “There you go. Keep it up. And you can have everything you really want.”_

_Matt forced his hand into a hole he’d clawed in Fisk’s chest. “Remember when you threatened my partner? You shouldn’t have brought him into this.”_

_He ripped Fisk’s still-beating heart out with his bare hands._

—

“Karen. Karen. Karen.”

Matt woke up and grabbed for the phone. “Hello?”

“Matt! I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for an hour!”

“I…had a nap. I’ve been tired lately. Is everything okay?”

“No. Foggy and I just left the police station.”

“Police station?” Matt sat up. “Is he…hurt?”

“No, but he saw…I think he really needs a friend right now.”

“I’ll be right there.”


	4. Chapter 4

Foggy called in for a personal day. Mercifully, no one asked him to explain. He was afraid that if he started talking, it would all come spilling out, and his secretary didn't need the sickening details of exactly what a baby looked like after a seven-story fall.

Karen had set herself up at the kitchen table with a laptop, doing a nearly convincing job of not hovering. Foggy had changed into clothes that _definitely_ had no blood on them, he _didn’t_ need to check, and absolutely _didn’t_ need to take another shower to wash the nonexistent blood off. After he’d set the TV to something suitably mindless in an attempt to drown out his own thoughts, Karen had gone to work on her computer. She gave him sneaky glances every few minutes that Foggy suspected he wasn’t supposed to see.

There was a knock on the door.

“I’ll get it.” Karen jumped up like she was expecting someone.

It was Matt. “Hi, can I come in?” He turned toward Foggy. “Karen told me about what happened.”

“Oh, _did_ she?” Foggy gave Karen a look.

She responded with a shrug. Foggy wasn’t sure if he should tell Matt about the gesture or not.

He decided not to. He didn’t feel like working out the line between Freaky Powers Matt and the Matt he’d thought he knew.

“I’m sorry.” Matt approached. “Are you okay? Never mind, stupid question.” He put a hand on Foggy’s shoulder.

“Can we just…not talk about it? At least for now?”

“Okay, whatever you want.” Matt turned, and there was an awkward pause. “So, Karen, how was work?”

Karen coughed. “Um, maybe that’s not the best topic.”

Matt furrowed his brow. “Okay, um…”

“Matt, what have you been up to?” Foggy asked. “Clearly not sleeping.”

“Normal things,” said Matt. “Or trying, at least.”

Foggy sat up straighter. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just tired. Weird dreams.”

“Weird dreams?” Karen spoke. She sounded worried.

“Yeah,” said Matt. He didn’t elaborate. Apparently, he hadn’t told Karen about the mystery problem either.

Foggy stifled a sigh of frustration. Matt had promised not to lie anymore, but that didn’t mean he was any good at being honest.

“What kind of weird dreams?” Karen asked.

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

Karen folded her laptop shut. “I…got assigned to cover the Holy Cross incident. Some of the people have been reporting strange dreams.”

Matt was pretty good at controlling his expression. If Foggy hadn’t known Matt so well, he never would have caught Matt’s reaction.

He looked surprised, and almost…guilty?

“They think there might be…ongoing symptoms,” Karen continued. “People have been acting strangely. Getting into fights, getting arrested, risk-taking and violent behavior. There were sixty-three people in the church, and seven have already died.”

“Seven people?” Foggy felt a sick feeling growing in his stomach. “Did they all…”

Karen looked down. “Two died by suicide. One was shot by police, one died in a bar fight, and three died in car accidents.”

They both looked at Matt. “I promise,” said Matt, putting his right hand on his heart, “no driving.”

“This is serious!”, said Foggy. “Whatever freaky drug they gave everyone is getting people killed! And I know _something_ is going on with you.” He turned to Karen. “He was acting really weird yesterday, and he won’t talk about it.”

Karen went pale. “Matt, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“That’s what you said after being shot in the head,” said Foggy.

Karen turned to Foggy, with a shocked expression. “Matt was shot in the head?”

“A year ago,” said Matt. “It hit the helmet. I was fine.” Foggy stifled several sarcastic remarks. He remembered how Matt had looked on the rooftop that morning. Sometimes, in his nightmares, he saw it all over again. It was a long way from anything Foggy would call _fine_.

“I swear, I’m not suicidal, I don’t drive, and I’ll stay away from bar fights. Or...anything that might get me chased by police. I promise. Only safe and normal activities.”

Foggy looked at Karen. “Does anyone know what’s going on? Do they have a…treatment or anything? I know when Matt was at the hospital, they talked about some sort of hallucinogenic gas. Could that be having some kind of long-term effect?”

Karen bit her lip. “They haven’t found anything. Not yet, anyway. I spoke to some people at the hospital, and they can’t even _identify_ the drug.”

“If it _was_ one,” said Matt.

“What else would it be?” Karen asked.

Matt tilted his head. “You said other people had been having weird dreams. Did they say what kind?”

“No one will talk about them,” said Karen.

“What have you been dreaming about?”, Foggy asked.

Matt went bright red. “Um…different things.”

“Such as?”

Matt tilted his head down. “Demons.”

“Demons?”

“I think it’s a demon. There’s a smell of sulfur.” Matt’s face was still an interesting shade of red. He began picking at his fingernails.

“It could be preying on people’s fears,” said Karen. “Things that are personally meaningful to them. I mean Matt is…”

“Very Catholic, raised by nuns, from Hell’s Kitchen, and literally has a devil costume?” Foggy supplied. “Yeah, I could see how that would lead to some imaginary demons.” That _could_ explain the blushing. Matt, who spent most of his time somewhere between “impressively brave” and “terrifyingly reckless”, was probably embarrassed to be kept awake by nightmares.

“So that’s what’s happening?” Foggy asked. “They have nightmares, are too afraid to sleep, and the lack of sleep makes them self-destruct?” He knew sleep deprivation could send people into a breakdown - at Columbia, there’d been a couple of students who’d spent too many nights on No Doze and Red Bull, and had ended up in the emergency room. One girl had gotten weird and paranoid and nearly pulled Marcie’s hair out because she thought Marcie was sneaking into her room at night and deliberately highlighting the wrong passages in her textbooks.

“It could be.” Karen shrugged. “They don’t know much at this point.”

“Okay, so we need to keep an eye on Matt. He can crash out on my couch.”

“No,” said Matt. He had an odd expression.

“I could crash on yours? I’ll need somewhere to hang my suits. I don’t want to mess up your system.” Once, in college, Foggy had attempted to helpfully hang up Matt’s clothes, and then spent all day getting lectured on Matt’s system for keeping his clothes organized so he’d always know what was where, and helping him put things in the correct order.

…okay, maybe two hours. But it was a Saturday, so that had _felt_ like all day.

“No,” said Matt. “I’ll be fine on my own. I’ll…check in, make sure you know I’m okay. Every day, if you want. But we’re not spending the night together.”

“Don’t worry,” said Foggy, trying to lighten the mood, “First date, I don’t expect anything past second base.”

From the look on Matt’s face, that didn’t lighten the mood at all. “Come on, Matt! Why not? It’s just until we figure things out. Do this as a favor for me. It’ll keep me from worrying.”

Matt shook his head.

“You know,” said Foggy, “if you're on a weird drug that makes it unsafe for you to be on your own, someone's going to have to keep an eye on you, whether you want it or not."

“What are you going to do, have me _committed_?” Matt asked, sounding incredulous. “You wouldn’t do that to me.”

Foggy bit his lip. He’d been scared for Matt over the past year, more scared than he’d ever been in his life. If things got scary enough, there might be a point where for Matt’s own sake, Foggy would have to do something like that.

But if Foggy did, that would destroy everything between them. Matt wouldn’t trust him again. And Matt didn’t have many people he trusted. He didn’t have family, and his only close friends were Foggy and Karen. And things had gotten complicated with Karen.

As bad as destroying their friendship would be for Foggy, it wouldn’t be unbearable. It would be _brutal_ , but it wouldn’t destroy him.

But Matt without Foggy would be completely alone, and Foggy wasn't sure how long Matt would last alone.

“You call _three_ times a day,” said Foggy. “And as soon as there’s a doctor who finds some kind of treatment, you’re going to him, even if I have to drag you. And…just be careful, okay?"

 Matt nodded. “I will.”


	5. Chapter 5

_You can’t be here,” Matt said. “It’s not possible.”_

_He knew, by the smell of the incense, exactly where **here** was. _

_They were in church, and the figure in front of him radiating heat could only be the demon._

_He stepped back, and realized he’d backed into the altar._

_“With faith, all things are possible”, said the demon. He stepped closer, until he was a fraction of an inch from Matt’s skin. “And if there is one thing I have faith in, little devil, it is that you are mine.”_

_The demon leaned in, until he had Matt bent backwards over the alter._

_He leaned forward, and took up the communion chalice._

_Then, still leaning over Matt, he drove a long nail into the palm of each hand, and dripped two drops of steaming-hot blood into the chalice._

_“Take up this cup, for it is the promise that binds you in my blood. Drink of it in remembrance of me.” He pressed the cup to Matt’s lips, and Matt felt the rich salt taste of blood fill his mouth._

_“This is the first time what's in this cup actually tastes like blood, my devil?”, asked the demon. “The first time you actually believe?”_

_Then he stepped back, allowing Matt to straighten up._

_The demon put a hand on Matt’s shoulder, gently pushing him to his knees._

_The demon produced a wafer from between his fingers. “This is my body, with which you give yourself to me. Eat this in remembrance of me.”_

_He placed the wafer on top of his erect cock._

_**Blasphemy**!, screamed Matt’s thoughts. _

_But that didn’t stop him, that didn’t even make him **want** to stop, it only added a sick thrill as he opened his mouth and took the demon’s cock. _

—

He woke up in a cold sweat, a harsh, bitter taste in his mouth.

He licked his lips, then stopped and spat.

—

 _It wasn’t the consecrated host_ , Matt repeated to himself, pacing the apartment. _It wasn’t consecrated, it couldn’t have been, no one would leave the consecrated host out like that unattended, if it’s not consecrated, it’s only bread and wine._

_Why am I even worrying about it? It was only a dream._

But he didn’t believe that. It may have been a dream, but there was nothing _only_ about it.

It was one in the morning, but he didn’t want to go back to sleep. He wanted to…

He cut off the train of thought.  He wasn't starting that up again.   _Especially_ when he couldn't trust his own mind.

He needed to burn off some energy, to take his mind off things, to distract himself until he could sleep again.

Matt grabbed his sneakers and his big hoodie, took his cane along for show, and went out for a walk.

—

“Matthew.” A hand touched his shoulder.

Matt jerked awake. Father Lantom was standing over him.

Matt has fallen asleep on a church pew.

“Matthew, are you okay?”

Matthew opened his mouth, but no words came out. He’d been walking around, pacing the neighborhood, trying to ignore the sounds he heard and drive the thoughts out of his head, and then there was a smell like sulfur, and then he was here, Father Lantom shaking him awake.

He didn’t even remember going _into_ the church.

At this time of night, he would have needed to break in.

He sat up and stretched. His neck was painfully stiff.

“Matthew, I think we need to talk. Please come to my office.”

—

Matt hadn’t been inside a priest’s office since he was fifteen and led a group of boys in trying to sneak out of the orphanage one night. (He’d made it out on his own at least a dozen times, but he hadn’t accounted for how _bad_ the average teenage boy was at moving silently.)

He sat down.

“You don’t look well.”

Matt nodded. “I’ve heard that.”

“You mentioned some concerns about demonic influence.”

Matt nodded again. “I don’t mean possession or anything…”

“No, if you were possessed, you would not have come to the church on your own. What is happening?”

Matt shifted awkwardly in his seat. “Dreams, mostly. There is a man, not human, and he’s appeared in the dreams, and…possibly in real life.”

“You’re sure he’s not human?”

“I’m not sure of anything right now,” said Matt. “But if I can trust any of my perceptions, he is not human.”

And the woman in the alley had seen the demon, too. Provided Matt hadn’t hallucinated her as well, of course. That was the problem. Once he started questioning if what he sensed was real, what _could_ he believe?

“And this man, when he appears to you, what does he do?”

“He’s been trying to…tempt me into…sins. Of different kinds.”

“I see,” said Father Lantom. “And have you given into these temptations?”

Matt thought back to the alley. “Some of them. At least I think so. Things have been…strange. I…haven’t hurt anyone, I know that much.”

Father Lantom cleared his throat. “As I told you, in case of possible demonic influence, the church’s advice is to see a doctor, to rule out any physical or mental health issues first.”

Matt nodded.

“ _Did_ you see a doctor?”

Matt shook his head.

“Do you _plan_ to?”

Matt shook his head again.

Father Lantom let out a heavy sigh. “Oh, Matthew.”

“It’s complicated.”

“That’s obvious.”

“You don’t believe me,” said Matt. If even a _priest_ didn’t believe him…

“I believe that you’re being honest about the demon. And that you _might_ even be accurate.” He paused. “I also believe that it’s important to understand the entire problem. The Devil thrives on confusion and misdirection. If you’re too confident in assuming what you know, you can miss the real danger.”

Matt nodded. He’d learned that the hard way. Being too focused on one opponent, and not keeping an ear out for whoever might be coming up behind him was a good way to end up bleeding out in a dumpster.

And it wasn’t like he didn’t have doubts.

“So please go see a doctor.”

“Thank you, Father.”

“That’s not a ‘Yes, I’m going’, is it?”

“I’ll consider it.”

Father Lantom let out another sigh. “At least that’s something.”

—

“Hi, Foggy. I’m at church. No, I’m fine.” Matt tried to ignore the spike in Father Lantom’s heart rate upon hearing that.

“I went out for a run and then stopped off to talk to my priest. Yeah, we can go get breakfast. Sounds good. Thanks. Bye.”

He hung up the phone. “My friend Foggy. He’s on his way.”

—

Matt could feel the tension coming off Father Lantom as if he was preparing for something.

As soon as Foggy arrived, Matt was out the church door. “Hi!” He said, partway down the stairs. “Ready to go?”

Foggy paused, and moved his head as if looking at Father Lantom. “Yeah, I guess. Hello, Father.”

“Hello, Mr. Nelson. I…” “

What’s the plan?” Matt asked. “Pancakes? Early-morning runs in this cold weather really work up an appetite.”

“Sure, pancakes.” Foggy turned his face back to Matt, and started walking.

“Nice seeing you, Father,” said Matt. “Thank you!” He waved as he walked away.

He didn’t want them discussing him if he could help it.

—

“So, you had a talk with Father Lantom?”, Foggy asked, as they walked towards the diner.

Matt nodded. “It was helpful.”

“What did he say?” Foggy was using his concerned and careful tone of voice, and he’d physically tensed up, probably without realizing it.  

“He wants me to go see a doctor.”

Foggy’s body lost some tension. “Sounds like good advice.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Matt rubbed his face. “Is there a doctor who…knows about this? The Holy Cross Incident?”

“I could probably find one.” Foggy’s voice was casual, but Matt could tell by his heart rate that this was a big deal.

“If there’s a doctor who knows about the incident, and knows what’s going on, it might be a good idea to do a blood test or something.” He didn’t want to go to some strange doctor who’d think he was crazy, or ask the wrong questions, such as “Why do you have a scar from an arrow-wound, Mr. Murdock?”, but Father Lantom had a point about knowing what was going on, and it would be good to know if he _had_ been drugged.

“I’ll find out who’s working on it.”

“Thanks.” Matt still had some worries about what might turn up if they looked too close, but he’d been able to fake normal on hearing tests before, and nothing seemed to show up as medically unusual in a routine physical. (He didn’t know what would happen if there was an official record of his abilities, but he didn’t want to leave a paper trail that lead to Daredevil.)

“I’m glad to hear this, Matt. I have to admit, I’ve been kind of worried.”

“I could tell,” said Matt, and then he paused.

The man, the demon, he was suddenly a few yards in front of Matt. The heat he radiated marked him out like a beacon.

He raised one arm and pointed next to Matt.

Matt turned.

A man was moving closer to Foggy.

He reached inside his coat and started to pull out a gun.

Matt stepped around Foggy and snapped the man’s arm.

“Who sent you?” Matt asked, as the man whimpered in pain. “Was it Fisk?”

He could build fury building up inside him, hot and intense.

The man whimpered.

Matt leaned closer until his teeth were less than an inch from the man’s jugular. “Who sent you?”

“Fisk,” the man let out, in a long whine.

Matt nearly snapped the man’s neck, but Foggy was right there.

No, Matt decided, he wasn’t going to kill some _lackey_ on the street.

He was going tear Fisk's heart out.

Matt shoved the whimpering lackey to the ground, stomped on his hand so he wouldn’t be able to use the gun even if he found it, and then ran.

Behind him, Foggy shouted “Matt!”

But Matt was halfway down the block and moving with a burning energy that wouldn’t stop for anything.


	6. Chapter 6

“Did you see him draw the gun?”, the officer asked.

Foggy shook his head. He caught himself turning back to the gun on the ground.

He _hadn’t_ seen it until it hit the ground.

The guy had been walking up behind him, and Foggy had been ready to step aside, hand on his wallet just in case (like a New Yorker, always braced for trouble, but not nearly enough, it turned out, not nearly enough at all).

Then the man’s bones snapped, and Foggy’s first thought had been _Matt’s finally lost it_.

“My partner,” Foggy said. “He...I don’t know what he picked up on, he’s blind but he sometimes notices things, sounds or other little things...”

“He probably heard the gun cock”, said the cop. “Blind people can hear twice as well as sighted people.”

Foggy bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to stifle a hysterical laugh.

“Actually, that’s a myth.” Bret stepped over. “Hi, Foggy. Are you okay?”

Foggy nodded.

“So Matt did this? He stopped the guy?”

Foggy nodded again. “He works out at Fogwell’s Gym. His dad used to train there. I think some people showed him a few moves. And the rest of it was luck.”

Bret looked over at the gun, which was being bagged by a tech. “Yeah. Lucky for both of you.” He looked back at Foggy. “Where is Matt?”

“He...ran off.” Foggy sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. He hated this part so much. “Matt...you remember the Holy Cross incident? After that, he’s been acting strange. I don’t know if it’s trauma or whatever they drugged him with or what, but he’s been having trouble sleeping, getting paranoid about weird things. I think this guy scared him, because he screamed and took off.”

That was a lie. _Matt_ hadn’t screamed. The _attacker_ had screamed, when Matt twisted his broken arm until Foggy could hear bones grinding against each other.

Matt had _smiled_.

Foggy could still see that smile whenever he closed his eyes.

Bret nodded again. “So he took off in a panic?” He looked over at the street. “Lucky he didn’t get hit by a car.”

“Yeah,” Foggy said, trying to sound sincere. “He went for the sidewalk. So I went after Matt, and I couldn’t catch him, and then the guy who’d pulled the gun on me took off the other way, and I decided to wait for the cops.”

“Smart. Look, knowing Matt, there’s a good chance he just had a panic attack or something. He’s not used to this kind situation. Most people who aren’t blind would freak out realizing they’d just tangled with an armed gunman. And if he was smart enough to not run out into traffic, he’s probably smart enough to keep out of trouble. Try his phone, try his home, and let me know if you hear from him. Odds are he ran off into a different part of the city and will be calling you for a ride home any minute now.”

“That makes sense,” Foggy said. He hated this lying so much. “But...like I said, he’s been acting strange. What if he’s not...what if he doesn’t...calm down...I mean...”

“I know what you mean,” Bret said, mercifully. “Some of the people who were at Holy Cross...I don’t know what that _fuck_ they drugged them with, but I’ll tell people to keep an eye out. I’ll make sure they know he’s disoriented, but not dangerous.”

Foggy nodded again, ignoring the sick feeling in his stomach.

Not dangerous, right. Because for all the cops knew, Matt was a disoriented blind man with no weird powers or secret ninja training.

Matt wouldn’t attack a cop though, would he?

 _Would_ he?

Foggy remembered that smile and tried to suppress a shudder.

—

“Hi, Foggy?”

“Karen!”, Foggy said. “Hi!”

“Where have you been? I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for ten minutes!”

“I’ve been trying to get in touch with Matt.”

He’d called, like Bret had suggested. Called and called. He hadn’t expected anything, but he didn’t know what else to do.

“He’s not answering his phone? He hasn’t started again, has he?”

“Karen, Matt...” “

I’m sorry Foggy, I’m concerned about Matt, and I’ll be happy to help you talk to him when you get in touch with him, but right now I’m about to solve the Holy Cross incident. There’s this bookstore, Eight Degrees from the Elliptic, owned by a man named Harrison. Remember the weird guy at the police station? That was him. He’s been pestering the police for information and trying to get in touch with some of the victims. So I played a hunch, and it turns out he’s involved with the occult, and buying some seriously weird things from local herbalists. I’m going to talk to him. If I’m right, he should be at the center of this.”

Foggy’s stomach dropped. “You’re going alone?”

“I have to solve this,” said Karen. “I know it’s risky, but it’s the best chance I’ve found. That’s why I wanted to call you. If you don’t hear from me in an hour, call the police and tell them where I am.”

“Karen…”

But she’d already hung up.

Foggy bit back several profanities. What was _wrong_ with his friends? Was “Try not to get killed” really _that_ much to ask?

He could only think of one thing to do, and that was a long shot. He called Matt’s number.

“Matt, pick up, pick up.” Foggy paced nervously. “Pick up, please.”


	7. Chapter 7

Matt’s thoughts were nothing but boiling fury all of the way to Riker’s Island.

Well, all of the way to the bridge _outside_ of the island.

There were guards in there, and while part of him wanted to claw a bloody swath through everything, he’d burned off enough energy getting there that some rational thoughts were starting to creep in.

Thoughts like _guns_ , and _you’ll die without ever reaching Fisk_.

(Not, to Matt’s eternal shame, thoughts like _innocent people_ or _Thou shalt not kill_.)

He’d paced for a while, he didn’t know how long, fists clenched, occasionally snarling.

After a while, more thoughts started to register.

Like how many people were staring at him. Like the device in his pocket, vibrating and saying “Foggy. Foggy”, in a flat tone.

It took an embarrassingly long time for his brain to go _phone_ , and after that to go _Foggy is calling me_.

But after a while he stopped. Drew a breath. And with fingers that felt strangely unlike claws, he answered the phone.

“Hi, Foggy.”

“Matt, are you okay? Are you hurt? Where are you?”

“I’m fine.” Memory hit Matt like a sledgehammer. He’d left Foggy _alone_ with a gunman. “Are _you_ okay? Were you hurt? I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I ran off like that.”

That was a lie. He knew _exactly_ why.

“I’m fine. Where are you?”

“Right outside Riker’s island.” Matt swallowed hard. “I didn’t...do anything. No one’s hurt.”

“Okay, stay put,” said Foggy.

Matt couldn’t tell if he knew what Matt had meant or not.

“If any police ask you any questions, they think you panicked after the gunman came for me.”

“Police?” He felt a flash of anger. 

“Yes, police! Some guy pulled a gun on me and you broke his arm and ran off! Police show up at that kind of thing! I had to tell them _something_! Look, it should be okay. They think you’re having a panic attack or something. Disoriented, but not dangerous. I can call Brett and tell them you’re fine…if that’s true?”

“I’m okay. I’m calm.”

“Good.” Foggy let out a long sigh of relief, right into the phone’s mouthpiece. “That’s good. Stay put. I’ll get a cab and come to you. And then we’re taking you to a doctor.”

Matt’s anger again, flaring up quick as a brushfire. “You’re not going to have me committed, are you?” Matt asked, trying to swallow down the anger.

_Not at Foggy, he doesn’t deserve this, don’t aim it at Foggy._

“No. At least I hope not. _Please_ tell me you get how terrifying this is. I mean it’s bad enough that Karen is off chasing that bookstore guy...”

“Bookstore guy?”

“Don’t worry about that right now,” Foggy said. “Just wait for me.”

Matt felt a strange heat flow through his veins. “Foggy, tell me,” he said, an unfamiliar resonance in his voice.

“She went to this bookstore, Eight Degrees from the Elliptic.” The words came spilling out of Foggy in a frightened rattle. “She thinks the guy involved is responsible for the Holy Cross incident, and she’s trying to investigate. I’m afraid she’ll get herself killed. Why the _fuck_ am I telling you this?” Foggy asked, reverting to his normal voice. “Please, Matt, _I’ll_ call the police and tell them about Karen. Just stay where you are.”

Eight Degrees from the Elliptic.

Matt has passed it a few times. He’d never liked how it smelled.

“Matt, are you listening to me? Stay put. I’ll take care of this. Right now, the best thing you can do is stay put and let me come get you. Matt? Matt?”

Matt clenched his fist. He could feel the claws at the end of his fingers starting to cut into his hands.

“I’ll find Karen.”

He dropped the phone.

—

He arrived at the store snarling and ready to fight.

The place had a familiar stink. He’d smelled it at Holy Cross Church.

He kicked open the locked door and charged inside.

No one was inside.

He paused.

The basement. Two heartbeats. One Karen’s, one a stranger.

A stranger who was going to feel Matt’s teeth in his throat if he’d touched a hair on Karen’s head.

Matt wasn’t going to lose anyone else.

He was going to teach _everyone_ to keep their hands off the people he loved.

—

In the basement, there were _three_ people. Matt hadn’t expected that.

Karen lay flat on a table, breathing slowly, her heartbeat steady.

Matt couldn’t be sure, over the incense, but he didn’t _think_ he smelled any blood.

The stranger stood over Karen, chanting. He held a knife.

And behind them, heartless and silent, stood the demon in the corner.

Matt snarled and leapt for the stranger.

The stranger turn, brandishing the knife.

Matt found himself falling to the ground.

“Good,” said the stranger. “Very good.” There was a nervous tremor in his voice. “I was waiting for someone like you. Now stand up.”

What Matt wanted, more than anything, was to jump at the stranger and tear him to pieces until the room was splattered with his flesh.

Instead, Matt found himself standing up.

“ _Very_ good indeed.” The stranger sounded more confident. He walked towards Matt, still holding the knife. “Binding spell. It makes you mine.” He put a hand on the side of Matt’s face, gently turning Matt’s head. “Who are you?”

“The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen,” said Matt.

The man paused, and then stepped back. “Let’s try this again.” He brandished the knife. “I bind you to tell me your true name.”

Matt’s mouth opened. “The Devil.” His mouth snapped shut, then opened again. “Of Hell’s Kitchen.”

“Hmm. You shouldn’t be able to lie to me. I’ll sort this out later.”

Matt turned towards the demon in the corner.

“Wait for it,” the demon said.

For what?

“Temptation,” said the demon. “Give into it, and you can save her life.”

The man turned from Matt to Karen. He didn’t seem to notice the demon.

“Miss Page, you wanted to know why I did what I did. That is the answer.” He gestured towards Matt. “I knew it would cost some ordinarily lives, but it would be worth it to create something like this. See, most people, when you learn about their inner darkness, are absolutely pathetic. Weak, fragile little heaps of petty cruelties and sneaky self-indulgence. If you set a demon on them, they will either ignore it until it goes away, or self-destruct before they gain any real power. Every once in a while, though, you find someone who is the right kind of strong. Someone with strength of will and the kind of burning inner darkness that lets them not merely _hold_ the demonic inside of them, but join with it, and find their true self.” He leaned over Karen. “To be honest, when he didn’t show up, I was getting desperate. And you had a certain...quality, something visible to those who can see your soul. I thought _you_ might be worth a shot. But since I have my demonic servant, I have a different purpose for you. See, to seal the link between the demon and the human, he needs to be blooded. He needs to, at my command, make a kill.”

He turned back to Matt with the knife. “You, my servant are going to kill this reporter.”

Matt, sick with horror, attempted to stop himself, to will his muscles not to move.

Slowly, he began to step towards Karen. Karen sat up from the table, with wobbly movements, and then stood upright.

Matt stepped closer. In his head, he begged God to save him from this, but he’d stepped so far away from God.

“Don’t trust _him_ ,” said the demon, sounding a touch annoyed. “Trust _me_.”

Matt’s hands raised, the claws feeling heavy on his fingers.

The demon lifted a hand.

Karen grabbed the incense burner and smashed it over the man's head.

It was a clumsy blow, made while she was noticeably still weak, and it didn’t knock him unconscious.

He did, however, drop the knife.

Matt was on him in a second, snarling and digging teeth and claws into the whimpering flesh of the fool who’d thought to _control_ Matt, to make Matt hurt _Karen_.

This was the moment.

He was going to teach _everyone_ a lesson.

This was his chance to make an example for the rest of the city to see.

He raised his claws for a killing blow.

“Stop.” Matt stopped, his muscles straining with tension.

It was Karen’s voice.

She stood by the table, holding the knife.

“Matt, stop.” She leaned heavily on the table. “You’ve hurt him enough. Step back.”

Matt stepped back.

The demon let out a displeased snarl.

“This isn’t you. You can’t let him make you into this. You’re not...you’re not a killer. You can’t kill him.”

Karen stepped forward, then knelt down over the man’s unconscious body. “I’ll do it. I’ll kill him.”

The words were like a shock of cold water. Matt felt the rage start to drain.

“Karen...”

“Shh, be quiet,” she said. She sounded wobbly, but her every word had the force of a command. “You don’t know.”

She leaned down, with the dagger, and made a clumsy attempt at a stabbing. She was wobbling badly, and only made a shallow cut across his chest.

She straightened up, drew a breath, and tried again.

God must have been feeling more merciful than Matt dared to hope, because this caused a small nick in the man’s chest, and then the knife fell out of Karen’s grasp.

Matt dropped to the ground, like a puppet with cut strings.

Suddenly, he felt too tired to move.

Next to him, he could hear Karen slump over sideways.

The demon walked over to Matt. “Until next time, my devil.”


	8. Chapter 8

When Foggy arrived, there were five police cars and three ambulances.

He ran up to the nearest cop. “What’s happening? My friends are in there! Are they okay?”

He saw Karen being carried out on a stretcher. “Karen!” He turned to the EMT. “Is she going to be okay?”

“Sir, please, we’re going to need you to step back and let us work.”

Foggy stepped back. They weren’t using defibrillators, or that…bag-thing to help her breathe, so that _had_ to be good, right?

Then they brought out Matt.

He was unconscious, twitching, and making little grunting noises.

He had blood on his fingers and around his mouth.

“I’m his emergency contact!”, Foggy called out. “I know him! He’s blind! I can help!”

One of the cops put a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll have a car take you to the hospital.”

Just as Foggy turned away, he caught a glimpse of someone else on a third stretcher.

It was the man from the police station, the one Brett chased off. It took Foggy a second to recognized him.

He was covered in blood and ugly wounds, like a wild animal had mauled him.

“Sir.” The policeman pulled on his harm. “Please, come this way.”

Foggy turned his head and let the policeman lead him to the car.

— “Hi, Matt, it’s me, Foggy. You’re in the hospital.”

 _Please let this be the time he wakes up for real_ , Foggy thought. _Please_.

Matt tilted his head and sniffed, then rubbed his face and sat up. “Where’s Karen?”

“Also in the hospital. Different room. She’s sleeping peacefully.” Technically true. Foggy hoped it wouldn’t show up in Matt’s lie detector.

Matt turned his face towards Foggy. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“She was kind of agitated earlier.” _That_ was the understatement of the century. She’d been pacing around shouting about how she was the angel of death come to take on the necessary sins, and asking who she needed to kill. “They had to sedate her. But she’s sleeping peacefully now, and they expect her to make a full recovery. You too.”

Apparently some doctor called Palmer had found an answer. That was weird, because Foggy had checked her out and she was a surgeon, but she’d somehow come up with a vapor compound that would clear the remaining toxins from their system. Anyway, it seemed to have worked.

“Toxin?” Matt asked. He looked confused. “It was a toxin?”

“Yeah, that psycho Harrison, who owned the bookstore, he was behind the Holy Cross incident. _And_ he kidnapped Karen and hit her with a nasty dose of it. Who _knows_ what that psycho thought he was doing?”

“He was making demons,” said Matt. “People who could carry demons inside them, and be his demonic servant.” He began picking at his fingernails.

“ _That’s_ what he thought he was doing? Wow, that’s a grade-A whack job. Anyway, when he recovers medically, he’s headed for prison.”

“Recovers?” Matt asked.

“He’s not...he’s alive?”

“Yeah, he’s alive. Some blood loss, some injuries, but nothing fatal. I’m guessing you and Karen fought back?”

Matt ducked his head. “Yeah, you could say that.”

Foggy leaned forward and put a hand on Matt’s shoulder. “Look, I know that you’ve been trying hard to make a change, and I don’t want you to feel like you somehow failed. If some psycho drugs you and traps you in his basement, that’s completely different...”

“I wanted to kill him.” Matt turned his face towards Foggy. “I wanted to rip his throat out.”

Foggy felt a sinking feeling in his stomach.

When Matt had been sedated, and they’d gotten a chance for a closer look, they’d found he wasn’t wounded.

The blood was all Harrison’s.

Matt had some of it in his teeth.

“You were drugged,” Foggy said. “That stuff did all _kinds_ of things to people’s heads. Good people suddenly started behaving in really frightening ways.”

Matt turned his head away, and began picking at his nails again.

“Look, maybe...maybe _bits_ of it were you, but it wasn’t _you_. You’re not _just_ your anger, you’re not _just_ your worst thoughts. You’re the man who cares desperately about justice. You’re the man who struggles to do what’s right when it looks impossible. You’re the man who geeks out about Thurgood Marshall and thinks ‘We must dissent from the apathy’ can’t be quoted too many times.”

“We must dissent from the indifference,” Matt said, still picking at his nails. “We must dissent from the apathy. We must dissent from the fear, hatred, and mistrust.”

“Exactly! _That’s_ you. _All_ of that’s you. And if some weird drug blocked out those bits, the bits that cared about justice, the bits that fought for people in need, what was left behind wasn’t the real you.”

“I think Karen’s waking up.” Matt turned his head to the door. “You should go check on her.”

—

“Hey,” said Foggy. “How are you feeling?”

Karen looked at Foggy, then blinked a couple of times. “Confused.”

“That’s not surprising. You were drugged pretty heavily. You feeling better now?”

Karen nodded. She looked a bit like she was going to be sick, but she wasn’t ranting and raving, so Foggy took that as a good sign.

“What...Harrison, what happened to him?”

“He’s in the hospital. When he recovers, he’s going to jail. He was _definitely_ behind the Holy Cross incident, plus he drugged you and it looked like he was going to...I don’t know what,” said Foggy.

There’d been a knife on the scene, Brett had told him. Weird symbols painted on the wall, that incense burner filled with all kinds of toxic plants, and a knife.

It looked like he’d been planning a human sacrifice.

With _Karen_.

Just the _thought_ made Foggy feel sick.

“I remember...some of it,” said Karen. “So he’s alive? Expected to survive?”

“Yeah, alive and well and able to enjoy a nice long well-deserved prison sentence,” Foggy said. “Did you think that...I know Matt has some serious skills, and I know _I’d_ be scared of what he might do if he was off his head on drugs.” And Matt had Harrison’s blood between his teeth.

Foggy didn’t want to judge too harshly, especially if Matt had saved Karen, but he couldn’t help picturing it.

Not just punching or kicking or weird fancy ninja stuff, but Matt going after Harrison with his _teeth_.

“No, I thought...” Karen shook her head. “Never mind.”

“What?” “My memory is kind of fuzzy,” she said. “Things are coming back to me in bits. How’s Matt?”

“He’s doing well,” Foggy said. “I just checked in on him. He’s awake, he’s clear-headed, and hopefully he’s going to be okay.”

“That’s good,” said Karen. “I haven’t spoken to him much lately, but...I want him to be okay.”

“Yeah, me too. Both of you.”

He was going to be watching them like hawks for the next couple of weeks. Dr. Palmer _may_ have been right about being able to clear the drug from their system completely, but Foggy was going to make sure they were both okay.

He’d already come _way_ too close to losing the people he loved, and he wasn’t going to risk it again. 


	9. Chapter 9

_Matt found himself lying between two bodies, warm, soft, with steady heartbeats and personal scents he would know anywhere._

_“Karen?”, he asked, trying to process the easiest surprise first._

_And then, rechecking his senses, “Foggy?”_

_“It’s okay, buddy,” said Foggy._

_Karen let out a small, happy laugh. “We’ve got it all worked out.”_

_“We figured that since we all love each other...” said Foggy._

_“...we could just all be together and be happy”, Karen finished. “It seemed like the simple option.”_

_All three of them, just being together._

_Simple._

_Karen snuggled up against Matt’s chest, her soft breast bare against his skin._

_Behind him, he felt Foggy, warm and solid, with an insistent hardness that surprised Matt._

_“So, want to make it official?” Karen asked. She pulled closer and wrapped her legs around Matt, a hand on his cock. “I’m up for it if you, are Matt.”_

_Matt could feel Foggy’s hand’s stroking up and down his ass, his fingers brushing against Matt’s hole and creating a thrill of anticipation._

_It was all so easy._

_So perfect._

_Matt nodded. “Yes. I mean...” He tried and failed to come up with words for how perfect this was. “Yes. Let’s do this.”_

_Foggy’s cock brushed against Matt’s hole, and then slowly began pressing in._

_At the same time, Karen slid herself down on his cock, engulfing him._

_Matt groaned in pleasure and put his hands on Karen’s breasts._

_Foggy wrapped his arms around Matt and Karen, pulling the three of them together._

_They thrust gently, the three of them finding a rhythm, moving together as one._

_Foggy placed a line of kissed down the back of Matt’s neck, and then small, playful bites._

_He moved inside Matt, a strange sensation, but so intensely good Matt couldn’t believe they hadn’t tried it before._

_Karen moved her head around Matt to give Foggy a long kiss._

_Matt could feel her start to tighten with excitement._

_He came first, deep in Karen, with a low moan._

_Almost immediately, he could feel Foggy press deeper into him and start to shudder as he came._

_Karen tightened around Matt and moaned, her heart racing, tiny tremors of pleasure shooting through her skin._

_They gently separated, in a pile of warm sweat and happiness._

_“This is how it’s supposed to be,” said Foggy._

_“The three of us,” Karen agreed._

—

Matt woke up, sheets sticky around his waist.

He’d hoped the dreams had stopped.

That one felt different. Cleaner. He hadn’t felt any sign of a demon in it.

Nothing in it seemed _evil_.

It had been...nice.

But Satan was the father of lies.

And temptations that felt nice and clean were the _most_ dangerous.

Matt stood up, then knelt down beside his bed. “Saint Michael, Archangel, defend us in battle...”

It was an hour before he was able to go back to sleep.


End file.
